The Festival of Shooting Stars

"So, Ran. If you're ever around, ask for Enar the Coppersmith and swing by. You know, for reminiscing."

She laughed and brushed her hair away. "Yeah. If you're ever in Olssi, ask after me. Or just come knocking, it's the third house on the left. Really, do."

Enar did, in fact, have occasional business dealings in Olssi. It suddenly seemed like a decent idea to help him out with these sometimes.

"Okay, Ran. Have fun by the coast. And you'll get your lucky seven, you're too fun not to."

"Thanks." She smiled once more. "So... see you around?"

"See you around!"

She suddenly leaned in and pecked him on the cheek; and, with a flutter of the curtain, she was gone.

He remained standing for a moment, then smiled. "Ran of Olssi," he whispered to himself. He turned back to get dressed.

To his dismay, he discovered that there were no more wideleaf sheets on the altar; the ashes of the last one were barely discernible on the coals. He took a look at himself. His cock, balls, and thighs were a wet mess, spattered with both himself and Ran. He didn't really want to subject his clothes to that. On the other hand, just walking naked up the street in this state, soaked and saturated with sex, would be a bit much even by the liberal Kontarian dress code.

Fortunately, the shrine was just by the lake - he could just cross the grove south, and in no time he would end up on a fairly secluded beach. He picked up his clothes and returned to the curtain. He hesitated a moment. That shaman would probably see him, and the people on the porch, but that's fine. This was, after all, the domain of the Shimmering Ones. And it wasn't like he would run into someone he knew.

He stepped outside, the evening air chill on his damp skin. He took his shoes and descended the low stairs and--

"Hey, numbnuts!" a cheerful voice shouted at him. He quickly tried to cover himself with the clothes in his hand and then locate its source. He saw, strolling up to him, a freckled blond girl. She was wearing a grin that could only, despite all best efforts to find a different expression, be described as "shit-eating."

He sighed, and just slung his clothes over his shoulder, resigned. "Hi, Moyna," he said.

Moyna stopped right in front of him and scrutinized him, toe to head, with amusement. "What have you been doing?" she asked, innocently.

"Baking honeycakes. What do you think I've been doing?"

"Great. I'm glad you're in such a good mood, because I need you to do me a favour."

He inclined his head. "Let me guess, those last two words weren't really necessary, were they."

She raised her eyebrows and jutted forward her jaw. "See? You do have brains somewhere in there. Look, I need to get working on my festival tally." She peeped at him askance. "Unless you want your best friend to go luckless for a whole year, which you probably do, because you're a scoundrel and a reprobate!"

This finally made him crack up. "Alright, fine. Now go away, Moyna."

"So my place, after the parade?"

"Yeah, whatever. Piss off."

"Great! You're the best!" She gave him a solid pat on the chest, and cheerfully walked back from whence she came.

Iden stretched, and slowly turned towards the lake. Alright then. He better have something to eat and rest a little bit. He smiled to himself. The Festival of Shooting Stars was really a very long week filled with a lot of hard work - but you wouldn't refuse your friend in need, would you?

[1] Common Kontarian Wideleaf, Magnafolia cumragia.